You may call me Pacifica
by PseudoSim
Summary: The truth. What is the truth? Am I someone who never existed and died in the Caribean? Or am I Taylor Hebert, a girl who died in a hospital. Well, I know the truth, but I would keep my pax.


The psychiatrists' fountain pen scratched across the pad in his lap as he smiled warmly at her. At least it may have been a warm smile if he'd actually cared for her as a patient and wasn't simply going through the motions. It was his eyes, there was a distance that didn't _quite_ align with his smile.

She couldn't quite begrudge the man, though. Dios mío! The job he had? In this city? It would wear down anyone and take someone truly exceptional to actually care for their patients beyond the next paycheck.

"… and you've been settling in well? No new issues at home or school?"

Lowering her head slightly, she smiled demurely and blinked once at him from behind her large framed glasses. "None, Doctor. I was fortunate to test well on my placement exams, though the advanced classes have been taking up much of my time. But keeping myself occupied... it helps."

"I see… and how about getting along with your father? During our last joint session, I noticed there was some tension between the two of you."

"It…" Bringing her hands together she looked down as she ran her thumb across the back of her hand, "It's taking some getting used to, Doctor. He's been a little over protective."

"I see," he said. Another scratch of metal on paper. "That's entirely understandable in a case such as your's, but try and hold on and taking things one step at a time. It may be slow going, but don't be discouraged. With the situation you are in.. it may be best to think of him as being in the same boat as you."

The same boat? Hm. An interesting turn of phrase for a psychologist of all people to make. Not entirely inaccurate, though. Of course, that was resuming her situation really was what she made it out to be. No, he was simply an absentee parent attempting to hold onto what was left of his child after neglecting her for so long she died.

"...I can assure you that he cares deeply for you and working to reconnect won't hurt your recovery."

Pressing her thumb into the back of her hand she tightened the skin around her eyes until her eyes began to burn and water. She sniffed and looked back up at her doctor. "Hopefully..."

Not long after that, the doctor announced their time for the day was up and gently, though quite insistently, bustled her out of the office and into the overcast, mid-day chill.

Oh, what she would give for some sun. It didn't matter if the humidity came with it or not, but just a good day of sun and feeling the warmth on her skin would be nice. But alas… Looking up she examined the thin but leaden cloud layer rolling along high above.

"Hmm." Not _exactly_ good, but not enough to disrupt things and it didn't seem like it would rain. Maybe. She was still getting a feel on predicting that part of the weather here.

But smiling anyway she turned and began down the sidewalk at a slow, leisurely pace that would take her a little over thirty minutes to reach the boardwalk. Plenty of time to indulge herself and think. Slipping her hand into a jacket pocket to grab the round tin and popping the lid with a deft twist of her fingers, she snagged a pouch and discretely packed it in behind her lower lip.

Quickly enough the sickeningly sweet taste flooded her mouth. To her undamaged taste buds it was a foul, nausea-inducing taste, but soothing nonetheless. It was a disgusting habit, she knew and terribly unhealthy in the long term as she'd discovered, but as the doctor said, small steps.

Exhaling she slipped her hands into her pockets and plodded along.

Really that was all she could do, wasn't it, take small steps forward while figuring out what to do. This body was in better shape than it had been just a few months ago, and she'd made fairly good progress all things considered. But she had no orders, no backup, no real support… nothing.

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Beneath her feet, the old, worn and weathered boards of the boardwalk creaked and groaned as the waves slowly came in from the bay. The waters coming in and going out. In and out. In and out. Over and over again. It was soothing, more so than the tobacco and she spat the packet into the first trashcan she passed.

It wasn't the same of course, there were simply too many people for one, but it was familiar. And settling onto a bench after visiting a few stores to relax with a cup of tea and a few slices of pizza made it even more so.

The tea itself hadn't quite been her cup of tea— something that had carried over she suspected —and the pizza even less so, but the latter was required and both were rather excellent - if a bit overpriced.

The bench shifted as someone sat down, the wood creaking a little and she folded her left leg over her right before looking over at her new companion. A boy with a fancy new touchscreen phone in hand, maybe a few years younger than her apparent age and bundled up in an adequate amount of clothes for the weather. Not too many layers, but not too few. They were a _touch_ threadbare, but just barely. Shabby, but not outside the norm for an active child his age; and what with having cleaned up enough so as not to draw attention from the muscle that patrolled the boardwalk.

She discretely examined him for a few moments longer before nodding. He'd done better this time. Much better, and miles better than the disheveled little street rat that had had the audacity to hold a gun to her back. He could have passed for any absent parent's child if she didn't know better.

Although… glancing down at his shoes she saw the outside bottom trim was invisible beneath caked on muck and dirt. He'd still failed on his attention to the small details.

Shifting her legs so the right was now over the left she opened her small pizza box to take out a quarter slice and caught the eye of the boy. "You want some? I don't think I'll be able to finish."

From the corner of his eye, he looked at her, down to the pizza, then back up to her and grabbed a slice. She watched his arm, his hand, his fingers— his movements weren't too quick, but not too slow. He just picked it up as anyone would normally and not as someone who'd known starvation and all but lived on the streets. "Thank you, ma'am."

Turning back to look out on the bay she just sat with him, nibbling pizza and sipping her tea as he ate and every so often fiddled with the phone. The crowd moved around us, people walking in front of and behind the bench, but the entire time her eyes were on the bay. The bay, and the fortified superstructure of the converted oil platform rising high above the surface of the waves.

From a distance, it was more difficult to spot everything significant. There was no doubt hidden depths to it, but having an intimate familiarity with such a structure it was somewhat easier for her to spot some of the structure's defenses and offensive emplacements. It was formidable. A sign of power and an all but unassailable fortress that could hold against anything the city could throw at it.

And it was hideous, ugly, shining like a jewel in the middle of a fetid swamp as the light reflected off its sparkling windows. Nothing but a representative of the cities condition and it's populous. A single, isolated bright point among the shit. Not even the unpowered government forces meant to combat the superhuman criminals of the city had such gall.

But… perhaps that was simply her being too critical. She'd yet to meet any of these 'heroes' after all and at the very least their power commanded _some_ respect. The fact that they distanced themselves in such a way though… it was all but announcing to the city that they wouldn't have been safe on shore. It didn't even offer much tactical advantage either beyond security from attack. And what did they even get in exchange? Longer response times in an emergency and ultimately making them less effective at their job?

She sighed and sipped her tea. It wasn't something to get worked up over though, their err just meant that others— herself included —could benefit.

"Ah... pardon, ma'am. Do you have any napkins?"

Glancing back to the boy I saw that he'd finished off the pizza and had his greasy fingers near his mouth, a clean thumb against his lips. I frowned and pulled a plastic bag from behind the pizza box lid and he dug about before pulling out a wad of paper napkins and standing.

"Thanks, again."

She cocked her head at him and smiled, "It wasn't a problem. Just one thing though." The boy flinched away as she caught his eye but recomposed himself well enough, "Your shoes are dirty."

Swallowing, he nodded and left without a word; leaving her with an empty pizza box and a plastic bag flapping noisily in the breeze coming off the water. A muscle in her jaw pulsed as she slapped the bag down before it flew away and stuffed it in a jacket pocket.

Annoying. These things were one technical innovation the world could have done without.

She lingered for a little while more, sipping her tea and sitting on the bench before enough time had passed. Standing and stretching, she made her way off the boardwalk; cramming the pizza box into a trashcan and depositing her cup as she made her way to the bus stop and wait. It didn't take long for it to get there, she had long since memorized the scheduled routes and climbing aboard she paid the fee with a few of the quaint dollar coins she made for a seat at the busses rear.

Finally. Meeting with contacts in public, wasting time on making things seem natural, the false pleasantries— it would have been so much easier to use other, more convenient, means. In an age that relied so heavily on interconnected informational systems like the one she was in though, most methods of communication simply weren't secure enough. Not without resources, she didn't have.

No, she'd discovered it disconcertingly easy for information to linger in systems or databases and just left _waiting_ to be found, collected, and pieced together.

So, for now, she was stuck to methods like this. Pulling out and emptying the plastic bag, she noted the stuffed billfold gone and in its place a slip of folded paper with the names, descriptions, locations and distribution routes for her next set of targets.

Slowly, an actual smile graced her slightly too wide mouth as she memorized the details and began plotting things out.

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End file.
